


Fifth Northumberland Pets

by thesmileyfaceof221b (LoveMink)



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Gen, He Loves It, John Stay Blerpin, Light Mystrade, Mrs.Hudson - Freeform, Mycroft Holmes - Freeform, Mycroft Made Him Ink, Octo!John - Freeform, Octo!John Has Tea, OctoJohn, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock finds a companion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-23 03:52:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/921671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveMink/pseuds/thesmileyfaceof221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A rain day in London is normal, a pet shop with a strange name is not. Sherlock takes a look inside and finds a new creature: a little specimen that is half man, half octopus named OctoJohn.  How Sherlock and Octo!John meet and their adventures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> This was all inspired by the-villian-in-training on tumblr with her newest Octo!John art. A short one shot or maybe more I don't know, but my first Sherlock fanfiction. Check me out on tumblr as simsnsherlock! Have a good read.

A rainy day in London. Not an unordinary sight, especially not for such a man as Sherlock Holmes. The thin reed of a man, with a mop of dark curls atop his head was quite familiar with the weather patterns. Just as familiar as he was with the streets that he chased various criminal about, dodging bullets, stabbing and blunt objects that flew his way.

The loneliness however, never went away; the need and the ache for a companion or really just someone to listen to his ramblings was always apparent. Apparently real human skulls were not acceptable in public, if the scolding by Mycroft and Lestrade were anything to go by.

A store caught his eye. Simple, a pet shop with an elderly attendant sweeping by the large bay window that read, “FIFTH NORTHUMBERLAND PETS” Strange, very strange considering the street was most definitely named Watson. He plunged into the store with a swing of his coat and scanned his surroundings. _Real wood floors, most likely put down in the early 20 th century, scuff marks. Well-worn during its early days, not taken care of. Beige walls that had been painted over twice—no three times due to the cracks and chips that showed three or four different colors. Cages and aquariums lined the walls, not made to be there from the way the overcrowding factor seemed to make some pets squeamish, maybe a move, or maybe downsizing but recent. The old man who was sweeping the floor was easily deduced. Late 60s, early 70s. A bit of shaving cream on the ear, widowed then or living along, most likely widowed if the ring around his neck matched the one on his finger. Ah it did. Well then_.  
  
“Good afternoon son,” the old frail man greeted as he stood up and put a hand on his lower back to steady himself. Old age, most likely back problems that resulted from his early career as a...weight lifter, construction worker? Some sort of hard labor no doubt from the amount of muscle and the muscle atrophy that resulted and sagged in his pale skin. “If you see anything you like just give a yell,” he said as he continued to sweep and check on many of the pets on a more personal level .Attached, getting rid of them because he had to.  
  
Sherlock scanned the walls and shelves, birds, fish, dogs and cats in kennels, even a few rabbits. Nothing out of the ordinary. _Boring_. But what really caught his eye was a medium sized jar that was seemingly innocent and looked to be empty. He stepped closer the small sign next to the jar read ‘Octojohn $10’. Upon closer inspection, he saw a small creature. The bottom half was octopus, mimic octopus at that if the small spots meant anything and he knew they did. What was odd though (and definitely not boring) was that attached instead of a head, was a human body from the waist up. A small frail thing with deep blue eyes and a ruffle of blond hair atop his head. At first he tried to hide trying to blend in with the clor of the shelf jar sat upon, then he recognized the futility of such an action and that this human was different. Many would scream or sneer at him, but this one stared as if he was something interesting and on the inside that made OctoJohn preen. He pressed his hands against the glass and gave Sherlock a most pathetic look and seemed to be calling out to him, then a little sneeze and brown spots appeared, an indication the little hybrid didn’t have the best control over his mimicry.

 _No. Don’t be tempted Sherlock, no matter how cute he is._ Did he just think that, how stupid. The thing barely served a purpose and looked as if he would take up more space than anything. _You are a grown man, behave as such!_ He argued in his mind and when he went to turn away the little jar made a small said _bloop!_ As the little Octojohn curled into a ball and turned away from Sherlock, the self-proclaimed high functioning sociopath could tell form the shake of its shoulder it was crying. He searched for any rational reason to procure the creature, any reason. _He would be an interesting specimen to study._ That was quite enough.

Long, thin musicians’ fingers reached for the jar and picked it up then he swept over to the counter. Little Octojohn was shocked and looked up as best as he could at the stranger with the metal top of the lid with holes blocking his view. Through those tiny holes he saw the shadows on the man’s face and let out a curious little _blerp_. Sherlock looked down then brought the jar up to his face as he approached the counter. “I’ll buy,” he said and placed down 10 quid then stroe back out to the rainy London streets with his coat collar upturned. The frail old man smiled and went to clear the Octojohn sign; glad the sweet creature had gotten his new home with such an interesting fellow.

Sherlock walked at his own pace and watched as the octopus stared at him with curious eyes, but that did not mask his happiness. With another _blerp_ he began to wiggle his tentacles in what may have looked like a dance while his upper half only smiled and settled in for the slightly bumpy ride. Sherlock then knew that he had found quite the interesting flat share. 


	2. Tea Is Best With Tentacles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought it would be a quick one-shot. Guess not. I'll keep it complete though.

Settling into the flat of 221B was a little hard for Octo!John. First he was subjected to tests. Sherlock, as he had learned was the strange humans name, had topped over his jar into a little teacup and watched him. John’s tentacles flopped over the rim of the cup which was filled with water as he stared up at Sherlock with a _blerp?_  To his dismay, Sherlock began to record the length of his tentacles and examine his body in a scientific matter that made him squirm. John was a bit shy and tried to get away but the cup was just deep enough to keep him in it while he did his observations.

Sherlock himself was completely distracted as he watched John squirm and try to change color to be the same color as the cup, but Sherlock could see him and now the human part of John was blushing and giving a little glare to Sherlock.

“What is it? I have to record the length of your extremities now. If something happens to you, want to be able to record it correctly”

 John simply looked away with a glare. Sherlock rolled his eyes and picked up the teacup and slinked into the kitchen, where on the table was a larger bin filled with water. The plastic Tupperware was filled with about an inch of water that was warmer as he had thought John would prefer it; the jar he had called home in the shop was filled with warm water. John seemed to enjoy the water and splashed around, doing a little dance that involved fanning his tentacles out and turning then in a counter clockwise then clockwise motion. Sherlock watched in fascination then picked up the ware and brought it over his head so that he may looked under John. There was the gland from where he would squirt ink but also a tiny hole which was muscled enough to keep it closd. At first Sherlock was confused, expecting a beak like many other octopi. “But you already have a mouth don’t you” he concluded and realized it looked more like a rectum which led him to believe John had a more homo sapien digestive system. _Interesting, does this mean he had eaten human food as opposed to what an octopus might eat? Need more data. Note to self, check composition of next waste._

At first John hadn’t that anything of that but he realized that Sherlock was watching him from under. He let out a noise of dismay and curled his tentacles under him to protect his ‘private parts’. Sherlock gave a sigh and put the Tupperware down as John glared again, very expressive for such a small creature. _Is he familiar with human social conventions? It would explain his shyness and his knowledge on what is proper and not proper._

 “John. I have to see everything” he said seriously and watched the little creature with piercing blue eyes. John squirmed and shook his head. “Fine”

Sherlock got up with a screech of the chair and went over to his laptop to look up some basic octopus knowledge that he deleted a while ago. Maybe he could see what kind of things he should feed John.  
  
John, however saw this as his chance to explore this new jar. It was a lot bigger than the one he had been in, the only lid he could try to identify was the large wooden one they had come into after going up those things that creaked when Sherlock walked on them. He splish–splashed in the water then climbed over the rim of the bowl. His wet, blue tentacles touched the wood surface and he let out a _blerp_ as two of his more sensitive tentacles brushed on the wood that had many nicks. It felt so strange and he immediately raised them up, not enjoying the overwhelming sensation of both of them on such a texture.  He continued to squirm along the table on his less sensitive tentacles in a walking motion, using his suction cups to stay upright and reached a tea cup similar to the one he had been placed in. On the inside however, instead of clear water was a dark colored liquid. He tilted his head curiously and stuck his head above the liquid with a sniff, then realized the smell was delicious. A little slurp of the liquid and the taste exploded on his tongue with a small squeal of excitement. He plunged into the room temperature watery brew, which resulted in his body and tentacles being covered with tea.

The loud _plop!_ Sound made Sherlock turn and look up to see John in a tea cup he had forgotten to wash. If the little half octopus’ face was anything to go by he was enjoying his impromptu bath of teas as well as drinking the sweetened substance. Sherlock strode over and John gave him a look as if he was used to his presence already and cupped his hands, offering him some of the delicious brew.

“No I’m quite fine.” He said with a shake of his head and watched as John shrugged and started to drink the liquid he had offered up. “So you like tea. Something else to write down” he said and grabbed te notebook that was quickly becoming filled with John facts. John didn’t answer him and instead did the splish-splash dance he did when ever he was extra happy. This ‘tea’ was the best thing to ever sit in!


	3. Ink Stains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys are great. No seriously so great, I was so happy reading comments and seeing kudos, I had to write another one. In this one we see John do some new things and John and Sherlock do some new things together. You guys are so wonderful. For realz. Have a good read.

The rainy days turned to colder days in almost a blink of an eye. John and Sherlock had come to an understanding around each other for the most part, Sherlock seemed more interested in his new companion rather than cases. It had been two weeks and even though Lestrade called about cases, Sherlock always said he was busy studying John. The little octopus was such an amazing creature; he always found new data.

For example, John did not need water but preferred it. Many a time Sherlock had caught the little octopus who had grown a little bit, _10.35_ centimeters to be exact, since his arrival ‘walking’ on his tentacles around the kitchen table, the coffee table and even that one chair that he never sat in if he wanted to experience different texture. It was quite amazing. He also noticed and took note of the little splish-splash dance. John did it whenever there was tea to be smelled (Sherlock enjoyed the little dance so much, he started to make a cup for John every day. It wasn’t because he wanted to but keeping him happy was best when he had his experiments) or even when he got into the biscuits Mrs.Hudson would leave. That reminded him of when Mrs. Hudosn had met the little fellow.

* * *

 

_“Oh dear!”_

_Sherlock heard the plate fall and jumped up to see what could possibly scare his landlady enough that she would drop a plate. She had seen worse, heads, thumbs, and eyeballs and rarely dropped anything. To his surprise he saw John looking down at the floor with a frown form his perch in his tea cup. A sad_ blerp _let him know just how upset John was._

_“Oh Mrs. Hudson. This is John” he said and held out his hand toward the octopus who smiled up at Mrs. Hudson and scurried over to his Tupperware filled with water to clean himself After that short taske he preened for Mrs. Hudson, showing the myriad of colors he could change to make her feel better._

_“Sherlock, what is it that you’ve done to this poor fellow?” she asked and held a finger out to him. John wrapped a tentacle around it which made Mrs.Hudson squirm but she did not pull away._

_“He is an enigma really, when I purchased him from a store, he was this way” he commented lazily as he grabbed the notebook and made a mental note of his preening and the scope of his color change. “He’s my pet” At the indignant_ blerp! _He received; he rolled his eyes and corrected himself. “Excuse me  flat mate” John seem placated and let Mrs.Hudson go as he did his splish-splash dance for her._

_“He is quite darling. Just remember dear, I’m your landlady not your housekeeper” she said with a smalls mile and a gentle kiss to the top of his head. John blushed and curled his tentacles again then in a small voice replied._

_“Ta”_

* * *

That had been the first time Johnhad spoken and that had been days ago. Sometimes John would utter small thing along with his trademarked ‘blerp’ like tea and ta and even the word biscuits, but it Sherlock pushed him for two long, he was glare, and curl into a ball in his tea cup. The genius knew then that he would have to wait for John to speak more on his own. _Boring._

Today, Mycroft decided to show his face, walking into the apartment with his umbrella and the aura of pompous arrogance his carried. _Fat sod._

“Hello little brother” he said with that little smile on his face that made Sherlock roll his eyes.

“To what do I owe this unwelcome visit?” Sherlock asked as he swept off to sit near his laptop.

“Gregory has told me that you have not been taking any cases of late, I simply came to see what has yo so preoccupied. When you do not take cases, Gregory and I are together even less.”

“I’ve been busy Mycroft” he said impatiently.

“Yes but with what my dear little brother is the question”

John let out a little _blerp_ as Mycroft went to sit in the chair that he sometime laid in. When Mycroft locked his eyes on the source of the sound, John immediately tried to blend in with the table, then he remembered how much improvement his camouflaging skills needed and did the next natural thing. He inked. Sherlock tuned around at the wet, _sploosh_ sound and saw the black, murky water. He immediately knew what had happened. He strode over to John as a question formed on Mycrofts lips.

“What is that?” he said with a surprised tenor to his voice.

“ **He** is named John dear brother and you have made him ink for the first time I might add” he  accused with a sneer on his face then turned to John who looked ashamed.

“Made me ink” John repeated in small voice as he went to the corner of his Tupperware bowl. Sherlock put his hand on the table and watched As John got into his larg hand. The ink was apparently viscous because it stuck to his body and even Sherlock’s hand. _Need more data, must analyze composition._  Sherlock brought him to the sink and filled another bowl with water. John sensed what was happening and dropped with a _plunk!_ in the bowl that was being filled with running water. He cleaned himself off and stayed under the warm water while Mycroft watched him

“Where did you get John?”

“A pet shop, he is my companion.” He said as he washed his hand near John who used his own tiny hands to scrub away the ink as best as possible.

“Yes well.” Mycroft said a declared his throat to get rid of the shock and awe at such a companion. He would look up more data later on such a specimen. “Take more cases Sherlock. Take your pet with you if you want” he said with a nonchalant throw of his hand. “We’ll be in touch” he said and walked downstairs and was out the door quick as he came, a tornado of new information in his wake.

It was then that Sherlock realized the feeling and saw John cleaning his hand. He shut off the water and watched as John stills at with his back toward Sherlock. This had been the only time Sherlock had truly picked up John, usually he moved around on his own. He took a finger and rubbed it against Johns back, feeling the shame radiate off him in waves like the ripple in the water he sat in.

“You inking is fine, John. All octopi do it and it is perfectly natural” the genius tried to explain as a comfort. John seemed to listen and gave a little nod. He felt bad though, for inking and getting Sherlock’s hand dirty.

“Besides, Mycroft would make me ink too if I had the proper glands for it.” Sherlock continued as he watched John scutter into his hand for transport. Sherlock placed him in the bowl of water on the kitchen table, near his tea as he went to grab a sample of Johns ink for his analysis. When he came back, John was smiling up at him from his cup of tea where his tentacles had mimicked the color almost perfectly.

“Ta” John said softly then let out another  _blerp_!


	4. Where Oh Where Has My Sherlock Gone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys again are great. Today was my first day and it went okay for the most part, definitely dropping French 4 AP. Too much immersion. I can't but another chapter because while I suffered through that class I thought of Octo!John. A little shorter than usual but I would love a nap right now. More to come this week, maybe not during the weekdays but definitely weekends.

John was interesting but not that interesting. Before he had known it, Sherlock had disappeared form the jar he called a ‘flat’. It was so sudden that Octo!John was still in apparent shock. The last thing he had seen was that weird things that felt so soft yet heavy under his tentacle put on Sherlock, then him saying that there was a case.   
  
John had watched him with a small _blerp_ and went back to his business of discovering that when he ducked biscuit in his tea, the bready substance held the flavor. It took a lot of mistrials, figuring out how much pressure to put on the biscuit without crushing it. Sherlock had told him to use his hands and ever since then Octo!John hasn’t looked back. Right before Sherlock left he had settled into his nap position, curling and uncurling his tentacles and he lay down in the water that would cover some of him but not his face and nose. Tea was good and so were biscuits but they gave him a full tummy and a sleepy mind.  
  
The most distressful thing of John waking up was the silence. Light were on but all he could really hear was the humming of the refrigerator not five feet away. He let out a curious _blerp_ at first, expecting Sherlock to react to it like he usually did but then when he heard nothing he settled down and with a small voice muttered.

“Sherlouck?” The sounds were a bit odd all stuck together but he supposed that him speaking would get Sherlock to pay attention to him, but sadly that didn’t work. He even resorted to the _splish-splash_ dance but to no avail. Thus began the trek to find his Sherlock. The slither down the table was easy, the legs were just a suction cupped walk down but when he was on the floor he almost inked. The jar looked so not scary from his bowl on the table but now it looked enormous and filled with troubles. The little mini-octo pulled on though.

The hard wood floors reminded him of the table, scoffed but just a sensation one had to get used to. He faintly remembered the direction Sherlock would walk and saw the clear bowl on the coffee table. He squirmed up and plopped into the bowl. Still no sign of Sherlock. A _splish-splash_ dance, still nothing. With a small sad _blerp_ he tried to go to sleep again, hoping when he opened his eyes Sherlock would be there.

* * *

 

Sadly, his wish did not come true. Sherlock was still gone and John seriously contemplated whether or not he had been abandoned. It was a melancholy though and made his whole body shake as small little tears dropped from his eyes. The tears, when they got into the water solidified and became little crystals. That’s the reason his last human had only kept him in a jar. The old man was nice enough to keep him happy, even though he knew his tears valuable. John tried to wipe his eyes and he didn’t hear as Sherlock walked into the apartment and saw John not where he left him

The little octopus was shaking, _crying again_. His hunched over position indicated a sense of self-comfort that showed how sad he was. Sherlock strode over and looked down at John. The shimmering crystals in the water seemed to be his tears if the processes of watching them solidify as they dropped off his cheeks was a rational observation. _Need more data but must stop his sadness_.

“John? What’s wrong?” Sherlock brushed a finger on his back like he had done the first day he inked as a comfort.

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” John immediately attached his tentacles to the hand and curled up into his palm with a satisfied _blerp_ that sounded more like purring now. His blue eyes stared up into the enigma of a color that were Sherlock’s’ which surprised the young man.

John seemed to miss him and he made it apparent by his actions now. _Sentiment_. He deduced and watched John do a version of his _splish-splash_ dance without water.

“Where go?”

“It’s ‘Where did you go’ and I had to solve a murder in Brixton. Obvious really. The cousin used the sister’s makeup to kill her by poising it with a topical agent that contained certain vegetation she was allergic too” he said and sat on his loveseat with John still in his hand.

“Oh. John miss Sherlock” John said with proud big blue eyes.

“Yes well. It was quite boring without my usual companion and his trademarked noise of happiness”

“Blerp!”

 


	5. Belstaffs and Jumpers

Sherlock was bored. As usual.

  
The weather was colder now and it had been two months since that faithful day at Northumberland Pets. John was a little bigger but he had changed overall. He was starting to learn how to change colors to match his surroundings, but it still only did so much, His bare upper torso of a man made it easy for Sherlock to find him. Sherlock had even looked at the chemical composition of is flat mates tears. They seemed to be a sort of gem stone, closer to the chemical composition of selenite. He remembered his notes form that day. Aanalyze tear ducts, tears before hardening, and the diet of John. However even with all the new data and his interesting companion, he had still only learned so much and was bored from time to time. Like now.

  
The vibration from his phone let him know that murder was afoot. He quickly jumped up from his lounge on the love seat and scrambled for clothes. John on the other hand swished around in his little Tupperware bowl He knew what it meant when Sherlock got like this. A case and a murder. Then a happy Sherlock for a couple days. But Sherlock would leave him alone in the flat for a couple hoursa and barely be with him. As Sherlock dressed, John blerped! until his companion paid attention

  
“John come too?” he asked with the most innocent eyes. Sherlock knew it was not on purpose but the look on his face was priceless. He had grasped the edge of his Tupperware bowl and looked to be pleading. Sherlock thought to say no. He thought to say how it was even more impractical than some of his schemes, he thought to say how it was dangerous for John and even with these thoughts he still put his hand down and waited for John to scuttle in his hand. The little octopus was fast and curled some tentacles around his thumb. Sherlock placed him in his coat pocket and grabbed his cell then was on his way

  
“Mrs. Hudson, I’m taking John so do not worry about checking on him” he said and was about to be out the door when Mrs. Hudson chastised him.

  
“You aren’t bringing him in the cold? He’ll catch his death out there,” she said and came out of her flat to see him. John blerped sadly and looked at Mrs .Hudons as Sherlock seemed to remember that little bit of fact.

  
John was naked, his tentacles and his skin were exposed. The cold may not be good for his skin and most likely not his tentacles either. “Right. I forgot that Mrs. Hudson, excellent observation”

  
“Oh lord. Without me, where would you two be” she said as she held up a piece of fabric. It was a jumper, tiny and knitted from what felt like baby yarn. John looked at it and point so Sherlock knew to pull him closer. When Sherlock did, John touched it and gave a sound of enjoyment, commencing the splish-splash dance on his palm. The jumper was a cable knit pattern in an oatmeal color. The top was made like a normal jumper for his human parts, but at the bottom, there were places for him to put his tentacles with a hole for his ink glands and rectum.

  
Mrs. Hudson took the little octopus man who excitedly fit in his jumper then looked at Mrs. Hudosn. “Perfect fit! Ta!” he said to Mrs. Hudson who just let out a happy giggle  
“Just think it looks spot on. Sherlock?”

  
Sherlock nodded. “Dashing and practical. Thank you Mrs. Hudson” he said and took the little octopus and placed him back into the Belstaff pocket where he would be warm without a doubt.

  
With a raised hand, Sherlock and John were in the cab. Sherlock spotted off directions to the cabbie while John looked out of his pocket home out of the window and gazed at the outside world going by so fast. It was so interesting. Colors and sounds flashed around John and he gave little blerps at what interested him the most. For example, if they ever stopped and there was a pretty woman, John would blerp in excitement. Sherlock would shake his head and then a thought occurred.

  
Did John have genitals?

  
He didn’t recall seeing any in his initial examination but maybe he reproduced like octopi. A curious question for another day.

But then, another thought occurred.

  
John at a crime scene meant Lestrade, and worst off Anderson and Donovan. This little flat mate would be a bit harder to explain than most.


End file.
